Taking a Chance Series: Office Olympics
by Mag68
Summary: My submission for the Taking a chance series on alovesosexy. My episode: Office Olympics My mission: Hook Jim and Pam up. Rating purely a precaution at this point.
1. Going for the Gold

**A/N: My submission for the Taking a Chance Season 2 fanfic-a-thon taking place on alovesosexy. Thanks to JamJunkie14 and NinJAM for the beta services. I'm thinking this one will have two, or maybe three chapters in total.**

**Oh! And I'm up for sale in the Support Stacie Author Auction this weekend, along with JamJunkie14 and Liv. You can find the information on my profile page. Please stop by and say hi!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything associated with this show or these characters. Actually, I don't own much of anything at all.**

**Going for the Gold**

There are certain sounds that I love. Um, birds chirping on a clear Spring morning, the rasp of charcoal on good drawing paper, the hiss of fajitas in a cast iron skillet, and the thump of Jim Halpert's head hitting the desk. That last one might seem a little strange, but it's true. I love that sound because it means that something fun is about to happen.

Each time Jim dies of boredom, I know that it's my job to revive him. I take my job very seriously, because saving Jim Halpert's life is very important to me. You see, if I don't save Jim's life, I would have very little fun in my own.

It's not that my relationship with Roy is bad, or that he mistreats me or anything like that. It's just not very much fun. We don't like the same things, Roy and me. He likes to watch sports, I love the Antiques Roadshow. He likes to ride jet skis; I get bored waiting for my turn on the machine that was supposed to be mine. The fact of the matter is, I know that Roy and I don't have very much in common anymore. I mean, we have a history. A long history. A history that can't be erased. Not that I want it erased, I'm just saying that history is important. Nothing can change it. The only problem is, history isn't very much fun.

Come on, admit it, when your history teacher in school got bogged down in the Civil War, you know that you wanted to die of boredom. You wanted to let your head hit the desk, if for no other reason than to experience that momentary jolt.

When Jim dies of boredom, a part of me feels a different kind of jolt. A jolt that I haven't felt with Roy for a very long time. I'm okay with it, though. It's my secret, and no one ever needs to know about it.

No one ever needs to know that I itch to run my fingers through the back of Jim's hair. Sometimes I feel an impulse, an almost uncontrollable impulse to leap from my chair, hurry to his desk and curl my fingers into his shoulders; just to see if his skin is stretched across them as taut as his shirt is. No one would ever guess that sometimes, when he doesn't lift his head up for a minute or two, I'm tempted, oh-so tempted, to press my mouth to his to resuscitate him.

Of course, I control that impulse very well. That's why no one knows. Especially not Jim. I never want him to know. If he knew, that might make him feel uncomfortable, and if he feels uncomfortable he might stop coming to my desk. And I never want Jim to stop coming to my desk.

I can't help but smile as he pushes his chair back and wanders over to my desk. It's time for me to do my job. I love my job. Moments later, he's smiling, revitalized by the simple act of tossing balls of paper and paper clips into Dwight's coffee mug. Have I mentioned that I'm damn good at my job? Not my job, job. This job. My real job is so boring that I can almost feel my brain beginning to atrophy. No, I love this job. I love being Jim's partner in crime.

I love the way his green eyes light when he shoots and scores. I love the way he smiles at me as if I am brilliant. I will admit to having moments of brilliance, but I have to attribute them to having Jim as my inspiration. For example, when he found Dwight's wallet in the parking lot this morning and asked my advice on how best to use it, I could think of nothing better than to do nothing at all. And Jim's smile as we listened to Dwight spend his entire morning navigating automated systems to cancel every card in his wallet? That smile was brilliant.

A warm flush heated my skin as I saw Jim's natural enthusiasm kick in. Now there was a spring in his step as he wandered away from the reception desk and back to his mind numbing expense report. There was a spark of light in his eyes as he made his way back to accounting. Moments later, I heard a small cheer rise up from the accounting department, and swiveled in my chair.

I tried to ignore the slight pang of jealousy that I felt when I saw Jim heading for the annex. But I couldn't help but wonder where he was going. Hadn't I been enough fun? I have two more boxes of paperclips here. If he wants to kick it up a notch, I also have some binder clips. That mysterious thumping noise that echoed through the office nearly every afternoon began, and I snatched back the box of paper clips I had placed on the counter for Jim's amusement. With each dull thunk, I added a paper clip to one of the never ending chains I tend to make. I know, I really should learn how to knit or something.

A few minutes later, Jim reappeared. His face alert, his eyes bright, he approached Stanley and then Phyllis, speaking to them in low tones. There's nothing better than watching Jim when he feels inspired. And I watched. I watched as he returned to his desk, sharing a smile with Oscar and Kevin as he sat down. I watched as he held up a hand to high five Toby when he passed by on his way to the break room. I watched as Jim fidgeted, tapping his pen on his blotter and then rocking back in his chair.

The flush came back with a vengeance as he turned to look at me, and then launched himself from his chair.

"Hey," he said softly as he leaned over the counter.

"Hi," I answered, added another paper clip to the chain.

"Making jewelry?"

"Sure, why not." I connected the two ends of the chain. Spying the discarded lid from my morning yogurt on the desk, I impulsively added it one of the clips and held it up for Jim to see. "From the Mr. T Collection."

"Very nice."

Staring up at my creation, I realized that it looked a little more like an Olympic medal than a hefty piece of bling. "Here," I said as she stood up and draped it over Jim's head. "You win. I award you first place in the Dwight Debris."

"Wow, Pam. I don't even know what to say," Jim said as he held the yogurt lid away from his shirt. "Did you lick this clean yourself?" he asked with a smirk.

"I did." I had to fight to keep a straight face. Of course, that's a battle I'm usually engaged in when Jim is around, so I've had lots of practice.

"I'll cherish it even more," he said solemnly. He gazed down at my makeshift medal for a moment, and when he looked up again, his smile was so, uh, perfect. Just perfect. "Hey, I have an idea," he said as he leaned over the counter. "Can you make a few more of these? I mean, you don't have to lick them yourself. I like the idea of mine being special," he teased.

"Um, yeah, why?"

"I have an idea, and I'll need your help."

And just like that, the Dunder Mifflin Olympics were born. Jim was in his element; cheering his co-workers on, shouting out tips and encouragement, playing along with every name I invented. It was perfect. That is, until Angela explained the rules of Pam Pong to me.

I wanted to slap her. I wanted to slap her so hard. I hated Angela for seeing what no one was supposed to see. I saw her staring at us and making a mark on her stupid slip of paper. I hope she got a perfect score. Tens across the board, even from the Romanian judge. Hell, I'd drape the stupid gold yogurt lid around her neck myself if that would keep her mouth shut.

Didn't she know that Jim's visits were the highlight of my day? Why would she do that? Was she tracking Jim just to get him in trouble? I could see her doing that, just out of spite. God forbid anyone dared to try to have fun in this place. Fun. A little fun never hurt anyone. It made people happy, couldn't she see that? Look at Kevin's smile. Look at the steely determination on Oscar and Toby's faces as they filled their coffee mugs to the brim. Even Stanley had joined in, providing the color commentary to go along with each event as Phyllis giggled softly beside him.

And Jim. My God, look at Jim. Has he ever looked more… sexy? His smile, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the energy; that boundless energy, finally channeled now into something that he could get excited about. It hummed around him like a force field, but instead of repelling, it made everyone want to get closer. I wanted to get much closer. His enthusiasm was infectious. Even Ryan wasn't cool enough to resist the pull of him. This was Jim. This was all Jim. Focused on making this the best Olympics ever, determined to see that everyone came out a winner, smiling, relaxed, happy Jim, who only wanted a little something fun to break up the monotony of our daily lives.

I know that there has to be something wrong with me. Most people don't go _to_ work to have some fun. But I do. I need it. I need Jim.

When Michael and Dwight returned and the others began to drift back to their desks, I couldn't pry my eyes away from Jim. Disappointment, disillusionment and dejection were written all over his face. His loss was palpable. It was all I could do to keep from throwing my arms around him and holding him tightly. I wanted to run my fingers through that thick hair and console him. I wanted to tell him that it would be okay, there'd be more fun to be had on another day. I wanted to beg him not to let them ruin this for him, for us.

Instead, I took my seat behind the safety of the reception desk, and watched as Jim handed the stop watch back to Dwight. He bent over his expense report, and I ached to stroke those fine hairs at the nape of his neck. As he check and re-checked his numbers, punching them forcefully into his calculator, I yearned for one more joyous smile. When he signed his name to the bottom line and then set his pen down with a resigned sigh, I knew like I had never known before that my own happiness was not entangled in my fiancé's happiness, but rather, in my best friend's lopsided smile.

That realization should have been breathtaking, right? I should have been a little stunned by it, or maybe frightened, shouldn't I? But I wasn't, I'm not. It's like I knew all along. I knew all along, but I just didn't want to admit it. And why wouldn't I want to admit something that at this very moment seemed to fundamentally true and… right? No, I wasn't scared, or freaked out, or any of the ten thousand other things I should have been. I was sure. More sure than I had ever been about anything in my entire life.

Jim bypassed his desk on the way back from accounting and headed for the break room, but I did not follow him as usual. Instead, I wound my way through the office to the warehouse door. When I reached the warehouse floor, I found Roy lounging with Darryl in the tiny glassed in office.

"Hey, can I talk to you?" I asked, my eyes fixed on the man they should have been fixed on all along.

"Now?" Roy asked with a groan. "Darryl was going to show me a new video he found."

"It won't take long."

Rolling his eyes, Roy pushed to his feet and followed me to the foot of the stairs. When he stopped, giving me that annoyingly impatient look of exaggerated patience, I snapped. "Roy, what are we doing together?"

"What?"

"We have nothing n common. You hate everything I like. We never have any fun. Why are we still together?"

"Pam, we're engaged," he said with a puzzled frown.

You see, this was the trouble with me and Roy. That sentence alone said it all. Yes, we were engaged, but neither of us really knew why. I bet if I asked him, he wouldn't be able to tell me. But I don't want to ask him. I don't want to know what reasons he could scrounge up. I don't really want to know if there is one good reason mixed in there somewhere. My mind is made up. I want out.

"I know we're engaged, Roy, but I don't think we should be anymore," I said quietly.

"What? Pammy, why? Why are you saying this?"

"Do you have fun with me, Roy? Can you tell me the last thing we did together that was fun for both of us?" When he opened his mouth to retort, I held up my hand to stop him. "And I don't mean stuff in bed," I whispered harshly.

Roy clamped his mouth shut once again, and I swear I could see the wheels turning in his head as he searched his memory.

"I don't want to spend the rest of my life not having any fun," I said as I took his hand in mine. "Do you?"

"No," he whispered, shocking himself more than me. Poor Roy, he always was a step behind anytime he stepped off of the football field.

"I didn't think so."

"But Pam, I love you," he said, snapping to attention.

I could feel the exhaustion seeping from my lungs as I exhaled. "Oh, Roy, I love you to. I just think that we've both changed a lot. We've grown up. Maybe that's a good thing or maybe that's bad, but we're not the same people we were in high school, are we?"

"No. I mean, yes. Yes, we are," he answered, pulling his hand from mine.

This was the thing about Roy. He loved to argue. Arguing is fun for him. Sometimes I think he should have tried out for the debate team rather than the football team. He never would have made it, of course. He had a tendency to forget what side he was arguing.

"I'm not," I told him, praying that I was telling the truth. I slipped Roy's ring from my finger and pressed it into his hand. When his fingers closed over it automatically, I covered his hand with mine. "I'm not the same girl, Roy."

With that, I turned and walked slowly up the stairs, my heart pounding as I felt his eyes boring into the back of me.

"Pam, wait," Roy called as he rushed the stairs.

When I turned, I could see the anger in his eyes. He glanced nervously over his shoulder, and I knew immediately what was bothering him. You don't spend the better part of a decade with one guy and not know what really makes him tick.

"You can tell them you dumped me, I don't care. Tell them that I'm no fun, and you couldn't see spending the rest of your life with such a stick in the mud. We'll sort the rest out when we get home."

Before he could answer, I pushed through the door and made sure that it closed securely behind me. That's where Jim found me, his eyes bright again, his smile wide and delighted.

"There you are," he said, his voice husky with relief.

"Here I am." I hoped that he mistook the breathiness in my voice as exertion, after all, I had just climbed the stairs from the warehouse.

"I think I've figured out a way to hold the closing ceremonies," he said as he gave my arm a gentle tug. "Your doves are going to soar, Beesly."

And soar they did, taking wing behind a misty-eyed Michael, an oddly moved Dwight, and one heart-stoppingly satisfied Jim Halpert. As the final notes of the Star Spangled Banner faded away, I knew in my heart that I had done the right thing. I couldn't remember the last time I had so much fun.

It wasn't until I made it back to my desk that the crushing reality of what I had done began to settle in. I would have to find a place to live. I would have to figure out what my life would be without Roy Anderson as my future. A flash caught my eye, and I looked up to see Jim draping his bronze medal over the edge of his computer with the rest of his collection. I blinked, trying to puzzle out which one of the gold foil lids I had licked that morning, and wondering if Jim knew.

I tried to tell myself that it didn't matter if he did know which one it was, as long as it didn't end up in the trash can like Ryan's. I don't think I could take that.

I busied myself with retrieving the messages left on the voice mail and distributing them to the appropriate people. When I gave Jim a pink message slip, he smiled up at me and asked, "No origami?"

"Not this time."

"That's a little disappointing, Pam," he teased.

"Well, I'm not really all that much fun," I told him and then escaped to my desk once more.

I straightened up my desk as the last hour of the day ticked slowly by. Finally, the others stood and began to gather their belongings. Dreading the talk that I knew was going to come, I shrugged into my coat and pulled my purse from the bottom drawer of my desk. I called my goodnights as the others stood waiting for the elevator and made my way down the stairs. Walking out into the parking lot, I looked for Roy's truck, but found that it wasn't in the usual spot.

"No way." My jaw dropped as I walked slowly toward the empty space. "Come on, seriously?" I asked aloud.

"Seriously what?" Jim asked.

I jumped, pressing my hand to my heart as I turned around. "I guess Roy left."

"Without you?" he asked dumbly. He shook his head and answered his own question. "Obviously, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Well, um, I can give you a lift home," he offered as he gestured to his car.

"Yeah, okay, thanks." Still shaking my head in disbelief, I slid into the passenger seat as Jim held the door open for me. "Thanks."

"No problem," he said as he let the door swing shut.

Jim pressed his lips together as he cranked the ignition, and I knew that he was dying to ask. He wanted to ask, but he wouldn't, I know. Roy, and my relationship with Roy was the one topic we rarely discussed. Until this moment, I never really thought about it, but it was true. I guess I always just kind of sensed that Jim didn't get it. I don't blame him. Over the past few years, I've had a hard time understanding it myself.

I hoped he didn't ask. I prayed he wouldn't ask. And as I prayed, a carefully covered my left hand with my right, hoping he wouldn't notice that my ring was gone. That was one thing that would surely invite questions, questions I wasn't fully prepared to answer. Yet.

Instead, I smiled as he turned out of the parking lot and said, "Thanks for the ride home, Jim."

He returned the smile and I felt that familiar warm rush whooshing through my veins. I closed my eyes, concentrating on the soft rasp in his deep voice as he said, "Anytime, Pam."

tbc


	2. Stepping Onto the Podium

**Disclaimer: I own nothing associated with this show. I wish I did, but I don't.**

**Stepping Onto the Podium**

I started playing Pam Pong the very next day. It was a sort of experiment; part distraction, part verification. I mean, if Jim's visits to reception were so frequent that Angela had noticed, there had to be something there, right? Well, other than the jellybeans. Not that it meant anything. It could mean something; but, even if it did mean something, it's not like I could do anything about it. Yet.

Still, I couldn't help but stare at his hands as Jim used two long, slender fingers to carefully extract three cotton candy pink jellybeans from the dish. I wasn't really listening to anything he said, I'll admit. I was thinking about those fingers, those hands; engrossed in the way the rest of his long fingers curled up, securing the chosen few as he rattled them in his palm.

"So I figure that has to be a plus for me, right?" he was saying when the audio finallykicked in.

"A plus?"

Jim leaned onto the counter, folding his forearms along the formica top. "Well, I have to assume that not every guy is secure enough in his masculinity to go for the pink ones first," he said with a shrug.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, I glanced down, making sure that my left hand was still securely hidden in my lap; hoping that it hadn't made a renegade break for it when he sauntered over to me. I just couldn't talk about it yet, nothing had been resolved.

"Oh, well, that's true," I murmured. And it was true. Just as carefully as Jim had selected the pink candies, Roy would have studiously avoided them. Kind of like how I burrowed into the couch, avoiding Roy when he stumbled home drunk the night before.

"Yeah, so chalk up another point for Halpert," Jim said as he pushed away from the desk.

My head jerked up, but my eyes darted nervously to the tiny hash marks I had been making on my blotter. Did he know? No, there was no way he could know, right? He was just talking, just being Jim.

"You only like them because they're bubble gum, so I'm not really sure what that says about your masculinity," I blurted, not ready for him to walk away just yet.

He held up his hands in mock surrender, three fingers folded into his palm to secure the precious confections. "Wow, Beesly, way to shoot a guy down," he said with a chuckle.

"I figured you were secure enough to take it," I said, forcing myself to look away nonchalantly.

"You're right, I am."

A wide smile lit his face as he backed away from my desk, his eyes locked on mine. A smile that should be outlawed. A smile that hits a girl right in the hoo-hah. I shifted slightly in my seat as he returned to his desk. I watched as he tipped his head back, exposing his throat as he tossed the lucky, lucky jellybeans into his mouth.

My fingers scrambled for my pen, and I surreptitiously made another tiny mark next to the three that already graced the top right corner of my blotter. I was getting damn good at this game.

I stared at the candy jar, mentally willing the remaining jellybeans to disappear so that I could refill it once more. I love how the sound of the candy spilling into the dish sparks an almost Pavlovian response from him.

My mind began to drift as my gaze strayed toward his desk. I found myself wondering what other things could invoke such a visceral reaction from him. I watched him swallow. I could see him working his tongue against his teeth, thoroughly cleansing them of stray tidbits. I watched the muscle in his jaw jump and wondered what it would feel like to press my mouth to that pulsing juncture.

He hadn't shaved today. Or, if he did, he didn't do a very good job of it. Perhaps he needed a spotter. Someone to help him with such mundane tasks. I could point out the little spots that he always seems to miss; that tiny sprig of golden brown hair near the corner of his mouth. I forced myself to look away, staring a hole in my computer screen. But, I could still see it, that tiny patch of hair. Some days it's there, others it's not. I probably shouldn't say anything. If I point it out, he would probably be more careful about it. He would probably be sure to hit that tiny spot every damn day, and then I'd never see it again. No, it's better not to point it out. Some things are better left unsaid.

"Pam?"

I jumped. The combination of my thoughts and Roy's voice sending a pink flush racing up my neck and pooling in my cheeks. "Hi," I answered, hating the waver I heard in my own voice.

"I would have brought you to work today," he said in a low voice.

His statement ignited another type of burn altogether. "Really? Well, I thought it would be better if I brought my own car," I answered, trying to inject a little steel behind the words. It must have worked, I saw him flinch.

That felt good. Score one for me.

"Listen, I'm sorry, okay?" Roy said in a low voice.

"Sorry that you just left me here?" I hissed.

"I was upset. My fiancée just dumped me," he hissed back.

"Forget it," I said dismissively as I spun my chair, giving him my back as I busied myself with straightening the already pristine stack of fax cover sheets.

I didn't have to see him to know that he was leaning on the counter, his arms crossed over the exact same spot Jim's had been just minutes before. "Pammy, come on. We need to talk about this. Have lunch with me. I'll take you to Cugino's," he offered in a low voice.

"No. Not Cugino's," I answered without thinking. Then I winced as I realized that I had just given him my agreement to have lunch with him elsewhere. I knew he didn't miss it. Roy never misses a loophole.

"Fine, we'll go someplace else," he replied easily.

I turned and saw the victorious smile that I had heard in his voice, and in that moment, I hated Roy a little bit. I hated him for knowing me so well. I hated that he knew that I knew what he was doing, and he did it anyway. I hated that we both knew that I would spend my lunch hour hearing all of the same promises that I had been hearing for years. I hated him for knowing that I would waver a bit when I heard them.

I took a deep breath as I looked up at him looming over me. And then I smiled. Knowing that he didn't know that all I needed was that little tiny spark of hatred to hang onto. "You're right, we do need to talk. How does pizza sound?"

"Sounds great. Let me just go tell Darryl we're going," he said as he rapped his knuckles against the countertop and then backed away, that smug smile growing wider by the moment.

"Fine." I opened my desk drawer and pulled my purse from the bottom, thankful for that smile and the added determination it gave me.

I looped the strap of my purse over my shoulder as I stood up, my fingers curling securely around it as I gathered my hair from under it.

"Lunch date?" Jim asked as he approached.

"Oh. Yeah. We, um, we have to talk about some stuff," I told him, adding a small shrug to let him know it was no big deal.

Jim nodded as he held up his brown paper bag. "I guess I'm flying solo today. Too bad. The ham doesn't usually start talking back to me until about an hour after lunch, so I'll be lonely."

"Nice," I said as I shook my head, my smile disproving my subtle disapproval.

"Oh, no, I didn't mean... The ham and I, we're okay, really. I just meant, well, it's not very good company," he stammered. "I just meant I'd be _hungry_ again in an hour."

"Ohh," I said, my head shifting into a nod of understanding as the color warmed his cheeks. I love it when he blushes. "Good. I was about to give you the name of a good Internist."

Jim backed away, still blushing as he held up his sack lunch as if it were a shield. "I'm just gonna go..." He glanced over his shoulder at the break room and then said, "Oh good, Kelly's in there. It won't be so quiet after all."

"Have a good lunch," I called after him, a giggle bubbling up in my throat.

Jim turned back to me, a sheepish smile curving his lips. He must have been too embarrassed to look me in the eye. Instead his gaze locked on my left hand wrapped tightly around my purse strap. I saw his eyes widen, and then his smile grew slightly. It seemed as if his entire face lit up for that fraction of a second, and then it was gone, carefully covered with a blank mask. I looked down at my bare ring finger, and then back up at him, only to see him turn on his heel.

"Yeah, you too," he called as he headed for the break room door.

I heard the warehouse door open, and sighed as I reached for my pen, adding one more little tick to the collection of marks on my blotter. "Another point for Halpert," I muttered under my breath as Roy sauntered through the office.

****

I have to admit, it felt good to be the one who had the upper hand for once. Okay, it didn't feel so great to see the pain on Roy's face when he finally realized that I wasn't going to change my mind. And the resignation in his voice when we discussed our living arrangements, well, it made me ache a little. But he did it to himself. I sat there, picking pieces of pepperoni from my slice as he ran through the usual litany of empty promises and lame excuses, digging the hole a little deeper.

He thought he knew me so well, but what he didn't know was that almost every word he said made it a little easier. By the time he finally got around to extolling the virtues of a honeymoon in Florida instead of Hawaii or even Mexico, I had to stop him. It was just too pathetic. Both of us. Him, thinking that he could work me around just as he always had. Me, realizing that I had let him do this to me over and over again. I'd had enough, and I let him know it in no uncertain terms.

Could I have been a little more kind? Probably. But when he started cajoling me, it just got my back up. I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't even begin to picture what our life would be like. Okay, that's not true. I could picture it. I could picture it all too clearly. It's just that I didn't want what I saw. I had to be honest. I had to. For both of us.

I know that Roy didn't really get it right now, but he would if he just gave it a little time. He'd realize that I was right, that this was right. For both of us. It's too bad there isn't a mirror handy when you need one. I would have loved to have shown him the flicker of relief on his face when I told him bluntly that we were never going to get married. Of course, he argued and blustered, getting a little angry as he protested with a vehemence that rang all too hollow.

He was just scared. I told him that. He didn't like it, but I did. I told him that I was scared too. That seemed to make him feel a little better. He calmed down a bit, and for the first time in a long time, we talked.

We talked about how we had been Roy and Pam for so long that we had forgotten how to be Roy or Pam.

For a short time, there at that tiny table, Roy was the Roy that I used to talk to late at night. The one who used to listen to me. The one who used to love me, even though I was the weird artsy-fartsy girl. And it was good. Really good. But somehow, no matter how good it was, somewhere in those few minutes I know that Roy was finally beginning to understand what I meant. I could see him grasping it; finally accepting that maybe this was what he needed too.

He agreed to stay at Kenny's for a few days while I looked for an apartment of my own. We talked about splitting the money that we had saved up for the wedding that would never happen. It was then that his dimples flashed, giving me a glimpse of the boy I had fallen for so long ago. "You take it. It was mostly yours, anyway. I get the wave runners."

And just like that, Roy and Pam turned into simply Roy and Pam.

I know that if I stopped to think about it, I knew I should feel more sadness than I felt as I dropped my purse back into the desk drawer. I knew that if I let myself dwell on it, I would probably mourn the years I had wasted waiting for him. But I also knew that I couldn't do that. I'd made my decision, and I knew it was right. I knew that we probably both had enough regrets to fill the warehouse to the rafters, but there was no sense in reveling in them. I knew that all I could do was move on, move forward, just move.

I dropped down into my chair, but instead of opening my usual post-lunch game of Solitaire, I pulled up the _Times Tribune's _website and clicked on the classified ads. I pulled a post-it note from the pad and wrote down the contact numbers for a few promising looking apartment ads. As I scrolled down the page, I noticed the 'Articles For Sale' section and an ad for a wedding dress caught my eye.

"Shopping online, Pam?" Jim asked, tsking softly as he circled my desk and pulled a fax cover sheet from the pristine stack.

I quickly minimized the window turned in my chair. "Can I help you?"

Jim smiled as he waved the cover sheet at me. "Beesly, I thought you'd never ask," he said as he walked back to the other side of my desk. He placed the cover sheet on the counter, his fingers splaying over it as he leaned closer. "Would you mind faxing this for me?" he asked with a winning smile as he held up what appeared to be an application form in his other hand.

I couldn't help but gasp when I saw the subscription for _Out_ magazine. My heart skipped a beat as I scanned the address information, slowing only when I realized that the address on the form was for Michael's new condo.

I shook my head, unable to suppress my smile. "No, I won't. That's too cruel, no matter how gay-friendly the neighborhood is. It's beneath you, Jim," I added sternly.

"You think?" he asked as he turned the sheet to re-read it himself, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Funny, I didn't think anything was beneath me," he murmured.

I couldn't help it, I had to lean a little closer. I admit, there may have been a brief moment where I pictured myself beneath him as I looked up into his puzzled green eyes. I couldn't help it, it was irresistible. I wet my lips and then said softly, "I expect better from you."

I saw it. I saw his breath catch in his throat. I know I didn't imagine it. The way he swallowed hard as he stepped back only confirmed it for me.

"You're probably right," he said in a low, raspy voice. I watched as he crumpled the sheet of paper, his fingers working around it as he balled it into his palm.

"You'll come up with something else," I said, hoping to reassure him. "Here." I pushed the candy jar a little closer to the edge of the counter, offering him a consolation prize.

"Thanks," he said as he scooped a random handful of flavors from the dish, and then quickly retreated to his desk.

Another point was added to his tally. I glanced at the time on my computer screen and smiled. Only one-thirty and he was already up to six. It was no wonder Angela was so good at this game. I felt the heat rise in my cheeks and my lips curved into a smile I couldn't hide even if I wanted to as I picked up the phone and began to make some calls.

****

As Jim and I walked out of the office, I wondered if I could count it toward the day's final score. I was only up to seven, Jim having made only one more trip to reception to ask me to fax a report to corporate for him. I wanted that eighth point. I like even numbers.

I watched the numbers flash above the elevator doors, knowing that I couldn't ask Angela for clarification on the rules. With a slight nod to myself, I decided that it did count. He'd hesitated as he passed my desk, holding up a little so that he could walk out with me. I definitely count that as a stop.

We called our goodbyes to Meredith and Stanley, and as I walked toward my car, I felt a small flutter of pleasure as Jim passed his own car, falling into step beside me.

"Uh, Pam?"

"Yeah?"

"Is everything okay?" he began hesitantly. He must have heard me suck in my breath, startled by the directness of his question. "With your car, I mean. I haven't seen you drive your car in, um, a while," he added lamely.

"The car is fine," I told him as I stared at the battered old Escort I had driven since high school. I had a sudden flash of Roy complaining on the rare occasions that he attempted to fold his bulk into the tiny car. "Actually, I'm thinking about getting a new one," I said, this time startling myself.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," I said, slowly warming to the idea as my eyes traveled the length of his body. "Yeah, I think it's time."

"Well, I've gotta tell you, I worry about you driving around in this thing," he said as he tapped the trunk of my car with the tips of two fingers.

I watched as he dragged those two fingers through the fine film of dust, subconsciously, or maybe consciously drawing a small 'J' through the accumulated neglect. I felt it coiling deep in my stomach, that need, that tiny nugget of yearning. I want his initial on my car. I wanted him to stake his claim in some way. Not in a creepy possessive way, and not in that annoyingly macho 'She belongs to me' sort of way that Roy had. Something simpler. Something easier. Something more. Something more...mutual.

My keys jingled in my hand, drawing my attention away from his fingertips. The sound of keys jingling, the tinkling music that meant that you were going somewhere, that something was about to happen. I love that sound. It makes me think of aimless drives on warm Sunday nights. It brings back the thrill of walking out of the house, keys in hand, and climbing behind the wheel by myself for the first time.

"Are you busy tonight?" I don't know where the question came from. I almost didn't recognize the husky sound of my own voice. But, I knew the moment the words passed my lips that I didn't want to take them back.

"Tonight?" Jim asked, his head jerking up.

"Yeah. I thought that maybe if you weren't busy you'd want to go troll the car lots with me, look around, see if we can make the sales guys chase us," I said, trying to smother the nerves that threatened to make my voice quaver.

"I could do that," he said slowly. I could see the wheel turning in his head as he looked down at the keys in my hand. "Roy doesn't want to go?" he asked, his eyes meeting mine at last.

"No. Roy won't be going car shopping with me," I answered quietly.

"Okay," he said, drawing the word out as his eyes pinned me to the spot, asking all of the questions he would never, ever voice.

I forced myself to blink, but I didn't have to force myself to hold his gaze. "He won't be apartment hunting with me this weekend either," I said with more confidence than I really felt.

"I see."

The street lights sprang to life, warring with the waning sunset and overpowering it, drenching the parking lot in a golden glow that couldn't compete with the warmth in Jim's spring green eyes. "Do you?" I asked, my cheeks blooming with color as I realized that we both heard the breathlessness in my voice.

"You need help shopping for a car," he stated at last.

I shook my head slowly, unable to squash the impish smile that threatened. "No, I don't need help, but I think it could be fun if you wanted to come with me."

"Yeah, that could be fun," Jim answered, his smile mirroring my own as the throaty timbre of his voice found its mark once more.

"Climb in," I said to him, unlocking the driver's door as I decided that he just scored point number nine; odd numbers be damned.

****

"Maybe I need something bigger."

The words hung in the air and I closed my eyes with a groan, nodding as he murmured, "That's what she said."

"Yeah, yeah," I muttered as I shot him a glare.

The glare must not have been as effective as I had hoped, because Jim flashed the full wattage of his smile at me, almost blinding me in the darkened car.

"Can you afford something larger?"

"Probably not," I admitted.

"Well, there you go," he answered with a nod.

"It was cute."

"Well, that's always the best reason to buy a car," he said dryly.

"Hey, you said it got good gas mileage." Suddenly I felt a fierce need to defend the pretty little Yaris we had looked at last.

"You still need to test drive it," he reminded me as we turned into the parking lot.

"True." I pulled to a stop behind Jim's Toyota Corolla. "But, hey, you drive a Toyota too," I pointed out.

"So it must be a winner."

As he reached for the door handle, I felt a moment of panic, dreading the moment his long lanky frame wasn't crowding my tiny little car. "Do you want to go back with me tomorrow? I mean, we've discovered the secret; if we show up fifteen minutes before closing no one will bother us," I added with a smirk.

"That's not very sporting, Pam," he chastised gently. He answered my smile with one of his own as he argued, "Besides, if you want to test drive it, you'll need to go earlier."

"I have a couple of places I'm going to look at in the morning, but I could pick you up if you want to come with me," I offered, shocked by my own boldness.

Jim blinked slowly as he peered at me in the dim glow of the dashboard. "What's going on, Pam?" he asked softly.

The bewildered gentleness in his voice made my throat ache. I caught my bottom lip with my teeth, biting it none-too-gently to ward off the stinging rush of tears that burned behind my eyes. My eyes dropped to his hands and I watched as he wrung his hands, his fingers tightening around his hand, pulling the skin tight and chasing the blood from his knuckles.

It seemed like miles, those twelve inches that separated us. For a split second, I wondered if we had ever been closer to one another. I knew that we must have been, I mean, I've hugged him. But not sitting like this; his shoulders, broader than the narrow seat back, and his legs, probably nearly as long as the interior of the car. He took up a lot of room in a tiny space. I liked it. I liked having him there. Close, so close. No, I don't need a larger car. That sweet little Yaris would be just perfect for me. For us.

Emboldened by the realization and maybe, just possibly, a little intoxicated by his all-encompassing nearness, I reached over, and pressed my fingertips to the warm skin of his wrist. I watched as he eased his grip on his hand, letting the blood flow freely once again. He looked up, his lips parting as he attempted to speak but no words came out.

I shrugged and gave his wrist a gentle squeeze, encircling it with my fingers as I said, "I'm moving on. Going forward." The moment the word 'forward' tumbled from my mouth, I released my hold on him, pulling my hand back to the safety of my own lap, wondering when exactly I had become so forward.

"This is what you want?" he asked quietly, his confusion written all over his face.

"Yeah, Jim, this is what I want," I answered, sure or my words even thought I was unsure that we were both talking about the same thing.

He nodded once and then glanced over at his car. "What time will you pick me up?" he asked, a wry smile tugging at his lips as he opened the door.

"Ten," I answered, drawing one more little hash mark on the blotter in my head. After all, I do like even numbers.

_tbc_


	3. In the Land of the Free

**Sorry it took me so long to get this one finished up. I hope you think it was worth the wait. A big thank you to Ninjam for the fabulous beta services. The check is in the mail… Oh, and caution – smut ensues.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but a dirty mind. I hope that the people that do own these characters don't mind that I took their clothes away.**

**In the Land of the Free **

The day hadn't started out as well as it ended. I will admit that when I picked Jim up that morning, I was feeling a little, um, nervous would be the best word I can think of. Not nervous about being with Jim, but nervous about what I was doing with my life, to my life.

Roy was as good as his word, which to tell you the truth, wasn't always all that good. But this time, he managed to do what was right. By the time I got home the night before, Roy had been there and gone, leaving behind a note that said he'd be at Kenny's if I wanted to talk.

I admit, I was a bit tempted. I mean, it's hard to just stop, you know? After you've been with someone for so long, how do you just stop? I may have even gone so far as to reach for the phone. But in the end, I didn't call him. I couldn't. I knew that no matter what we were to each other, or had been, we weren't that anymore. I knew that I had to figure out who I could be on my own.

I felt a little stronger as I crumpled the sheet of twenty pound multi-purpose stock in my hand. I felt a lot stronger as I balled it up tightly and tossed it into the trash can from across the room. Boys aren't the only ones who can shoot hoops.

Still, I did feel a bit guilty as I lay in the bed I had shared with Roy for too many years. I felt guilty because it wasn't Roy I was thinking about, it was Jim. Of course, to be perfectly honest, it wasn't the first time I had stared at this ceiling thinking about my good friend Jim in a manner that wasn't entirely friendly. I can admit that now. Now, that Roy isn't snoring away next to me. But in the dark of night, alone in that room, I felt guilty for all those times that I did lay there next to Roy thinking about another man.

By the time I was dressed and ready to leave this morning, I had packed my steamer trunks and was taking a guilt trip of seriously epic proportions. I almost called Jim to cancel. I almost called to cancel my appointments to view the apartments I had called about the day before. I almost called Roy to confess everything and beg him to come back. And then, I looked out of the window. ThenI noticed that not only had Roy packed a bag full of clothes to go stay with his brother, but he had also hooked up the trailer that carried the wave runners and hauled it away with him.

I wandered into the bedroom, trying to figure out what else he had taken, but I couldn't see one other thing. No mementos, no DVDs or CDs, not even the framed copy of the engagement picture they had taken years before that sat on his nightstand. I couldn't believe it. After all, he was coming back here after I moved out, so why bother hooking up the trailer and hauling it with him? I stopped short when I noticed the empty shelf in the bookcase in the living room, the same shelf that I always complained about having to dust. Roy had taken the time to pack up his trophies and yearbooks from high school.

That's when I realized that Roy had taken what was really important to him, and left everything else behind.

Guilt resolved, or absolved, or just solved altogether.

Jim was quiet when I picked him up, but I wasn't surprised by that. Jim is not really a morning person. Not that it was all that early. Still, it was a weekend, so I guess his batteries were not quite charged yet. He said very little as we toured a tiny beige apartment in a large beige building. He said nothing at all as he looked around in horror at a larger apartment in a smaller building that looked like something out of an institutional nightmare.

When we got back into my car, I smiled as Jim tried dodge the automatic seatbelt and ended up having to disentangle himself before reaching for the lap belt. "Good thing they gave up on this little invention, huh?" I asked as I clicked mine into place.

"Yeah."

"So, wow, creative use of cinderblock," I commented as I put the car in gear.

Jim frowned. "I guess you wouldn't have to worry about any kind of infestation," he said at last.

"Cheerful thought," I muttered as we pulled away from the curb.

"Sorry. It was just… awful," he said with a soft laugh.

"Like a prison."

"Or an elementary school."

"Now that _is _frightening," I said, flashing him a smile as I slowed to a stop sign. When he didn't return it, I felt my heart clench. "Um, do you want me to take you home? We don't have to go car shopping. I mean, it's not like I'm going to really buy anything. At least, not until after I figure out the apartment thing," I babbled.

"I'm good. We can go look if you want to," he said with a shrug.

Pulling away from the stop sign, I turned right, heading into an older section of town. I drove slowly down the tree lined street, glancing appreciatively at the large homes that were being renovated and in some cases converted into businesses. When I stopped at the next intersection, I spotted a sign that made me laugh. Jim glanced over at me curiously and I nodded to the sign shaped like a coffee mug that read, 'The Creamatorium'. Jim smiled for what seemed like the first time, and I drove through the intersection, pulling into the first open spot I could find.

"What are we doing?" he asked.

"You either need coffee or to be cremated," I said as I killed the engine. "Come on, I'll buy you some caffeine."

Jim followed me into the coffee shop, and we paused to look around. "This is nice," he said as he nodded to the exposed brick walls decorated with what appeared to be the works of local artists.

"I love this area. The old houses, the big trees," I said as we wandered up to the counter.

Within minutes, we sat at a tiny table; Jim with his coffee, me with my tea, and a giant cinnamon roll sat on a plate in the no-man's-land between us completely untouched.

"So," Jim said casually as he lifted his coffee cup, "how was it when you got home last night?"

"How was it?" I asked, confused by his question.

"Yeah, uh, with the moving on or forward," he said without meeting my gaze.

"Well, it was quiet," I said slowly.

"Quiet?"

Suddenly, it clicked for me. "Oh! Roy's not there. He's staying with his brother until we get it all sorted out," I explained quickly.

"Oh." Jim sat back in his chair, eying the cinnamon roll but making no move toward it. "So, he's okay with it?" he asked cautiously.

"I think we both knew it was coming," I answered, suddenly fascinated with the soggy tea bag I had placed on a napkin.

"Are you okay with it?" he asked, looking up.

I looked up, meeting his spring green eyes as I told him bluntly, "It was my decision."

"I see," he said with a slow nod. He took another sip of his coffee and then leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table. "I'll make a deal with you, Beesly. You give me half of this cinnamon roll that you bought to torture me, and I'll tell you what my research uncovered last night."

I smiled, pushing the plate a little closer to him. "I got it for us to share, but I will admit that I am intrigued. Tell me, what did this research entail?"

I saw the spark of Jim's usual enthusiasm catch and take hold as he picked up a fork and plunged it into the unsuspecting roll, leaving it there as he launched into his spiel. "Okay, so I looked into the Yaris some more, and I think that you should definitely test drive it. But, before you do, I think you should drive some others," he said as he held up one finger to make his point and then reached into the back pocket of his jeans.

He smoothed a piece of twenty pound multipurpose stock that had been folded precisely into quarters out on the table and then tore a chunk of roll away with the momentarily abandoned fork.

I looked down at the paper and smiled as I tried to decipher Jim's messy scrawl by reading it upside down. I saw the model names of four other cars comparable in size to the Toyota that had caught my eye and grinned when I spotted a jumble of numbers next to each one. "Now, I will concede that the Yaris is adorable," he said mockingly. "So, that's why you shouldn't drive it until last. It's too tempting," he concluded as he shoved the hunk of gooey roll into his eager mouth.

"I see," I murmured, trying to hide my amused smile. And I did see. I saw Jim. Jim, who was a little goofy. Jim, who died of boredom almost every two days, like clockwork. Jim, who could zero in one something like a laser beam when it caught his interest.

"I can't have you being seduced by that pretty blue paint job," he teased.

"Well, I am just that easy," I said as I plucked the fork from his fingers and speared my side of the roll.

Okay, I'll admit it; there were plenty of other forks available at the counter. All I had to do was ask for one. But, if I asked for one, I might not get to watch Jim's eyes follow my hand as I lifted a dainty bite of cinnamon-y goodness to my lips. I might not get to see that little flicker of light and flame in them as my lips closed around the tines. I might not get to feel his fingers brush against mine as I offered him the fork back, and he took it wordlessly.

"So, I have to drive these others first?" I asked, nodding to the list in front of him.

"Uh, yeah. I think that would be best. Um, that way you get an idea of what you like and what you don't like," he said as he started tearing off another hunk of the tempting sweet.

"Yes, one should always test drive before they buy," I answered solemnly.

I know that Jim heard the laughter in my voice, because his head jerked up. I tried to smother my smile, and failed miserably. It was okay, though, because this time my smile brought his smile as he gave his head a little shake. It also brought a faint pink blush to his cheeks as he ducked his head and studied the list he had made far too intently.

"You gonna eat that?" I asked, nodding to the chunk of roll impaled on the fork.

"Huh?"

"I guess I should get another fork," I said, adding a dramatic sigh for effect.

"Oh!" Jim shoved the cinnamon roll into his mouth and then offered the fork to me.

I grinned as I took it. "At this rate, we might get out of here in time to make my fifteen minutes 'til closing window," I teased as I gathered my next bite.

"I'll get another fork," Jim said through stuffed cheeks as he pushed his chair back.

"No, wait," I said quickly, and maybe a tad too emphatically. Jim's eyebrows shot up questioningly and I shrugged. "This is more fun," I told him, popping the bite into my mouth and then letting my lips glide over the tines before holding out the fork for him to take his turn. After all, if he thought I could be had by a pretty blue paint job, it was up to me to prove that he was just as easy.

****

"Okay, so you think I should sell this car myself rather than trading it in," I said as we pulled out of the parking spot thirty minutes and one giant cinnamon roll later.

"You won't get as much on a trade. I checked the values on this car online. I wasn't sure about the mileage on it, so I guessed, but it's in great condition and there's bound to be someone looking for a decent car for their kid or just to get back and forth to work," he said with a shrug.

"Okay, sounds reasonable." I slowed as we approached the next stop sign and smiled at him. "Thanks for checking it out."

"No problem."

As I started to pull into the intersection, Jim grabbed my arm, startling me so I slammed on the brakes. "What?" I asked as I scanned the empty intersection frantically.

"Sorry, I just… Look," he said as he pointed to the neatly kept house on the opposite corner.

"Oh. Yeah, it's nice," I said as I began to proceed across the street with a little too much caution.

"No, look! Apartment for rent," Jim said as he pointed to the sign attached to the mailbox.

"What?"

"Pull over," he said as he pointed to the curb.

I pulled to the curb and Jim twisted in his seat to double check the sign. "Let's go check it out," he said excitedly.

"Jim, apartments in this area are probably really expensive."

"So? It doesn't hurt to look."

"It might," I said, wincing at the thought of falling in love with a place that I couldn't afford and then having to settle for something less, something beige, or worse, something built entirely of cinderblocks.

"Pam, you don't get what you want unless you ask. Sales 101. Trust me, even Dwight knows that one," he said with a smirk.

"But Jim…" I started to protest as he opened his door, yelping as the seatbelt cruised along its track and nearly took his ear off.

"We'll just ask, Pam, that's all," he promised as he climbed from the car.

With a sigh, I turned the car off and then hurried down the sidewalk to catch up with his long strides. Jim smiled reassuringly as we walked up the front steps, and then he reached for the bell.

A woman with long dark hair answered the door. "Yes?"

Jim smiled winningly through the screen door. "Hi. I'm Jim Halpert, and this is my friend, Pam Beesly. We saw your sign for the apartment, and Pam happens to be thinking about finding a new place, so we thought we'd stop and ask about it."

"Oh. Well, the apartment is upstairs. It has a separate entrance on the side. Two bedrooms, one bath, full kitchen. My tenant just moved out last weekend, and I haven't had a chance to clean and paint yet," she said cautiously.

"Wow, sounds great, doesn't it, Pam?" Jim said as he beamed at the older woman. "Could we, is it possible for us to take a look at it?"

"Yes, let me just get the keys," she answered, carefully closing the door before disappearing into the house again.

"Jim," I hissed.

"Come on, Beesly, this will be fun," he cajoled.

"I can't afford two bedrooms."

"We're just looking. Hey, maybe later we'll test drive an Escalade," he said with a nod.

I couldn't help it, I laughed; caught up in his enthusiasm, caught up in his smile.

"Here we go," the woman said as she opened the door holding a set of keys.

Jim and Pam stepped back as she came out onto the porch, and then followed her down the steps and along a narrow walkway that led to a steep set of wooden stairs climbing to the second story. "My last tenant was a musician," she commented.

Jim nodded and said, "Pam is an artist." I pinched his arm, and pinched it hard. Jim simply smiled as he yanked his arm away. "Still creative, but a lot quieter, right Pam?"

The landlady turned on the steps. "Really? What medium?"

"Um, none really," I said hesitantly. "Jim's exaggerating. I just, I like to draw."

"Pencil? Charcoal?" she asked.

"Uh, some of both. Some oil pastels or watercolors when I have the time," I said, feeling the heat of a blush in my cheeks.

"She's really good," Jim told her, earning another pinch.

"I'm a photographer," the woman explained. "I have a portrait studio, that pays most of the bills, but I just had a small showing at Community Center. You should show there, they always get a nice turn out."

"Oh. Well, um, maybe. Someday," I said, my heart tripping at the thought of displaying anything I had drawn.

"I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. Margaret Newman," she said as she offered them both her hand.

****

"It's still too expensive," I argued as we turned into the Ford dealership.

"Really, it's not when you figure in the utilities. Most other places don't include them," Jim replied easily.

"This is all crazy," I muttered as I parked outside of the showroom. "What are we looking at here?" I asked, anxious to change the subject.

"The Focus," he answered as he bailed out of the car. "The light in there was great, you said so yourself," he reminded her.

"It's almost a hundred dollars more a month than I wanted to pay," she retorted.

"What if we can get her to come down on the rent?"

"How? I mean, she has to charge what she has to charge, right?"

Jim smiled and said, "Everything is negotiable, Pam. She has to have some profit built into that rent."

I rolled my eyes as I turned away from him, bracing myself as a salesman approached, and then scowling as the rotund man in the too tight golf shirt bypassed me and walked straight to Jim.

Two hours and three dealerships later, I had enough of being ignored. Jim, however, was tickled by it. "It's unbelievable. No matter how many times I tell them that they should be dealing with you, they still talk to me."

"Yes, it's quite a hoot," I said, shooting him a glare.

Jim held his hands up defensively. "Hey, not my fault if they're idiots, Pam. You heard me. How many ways can I tell them that you're the buyer? Apparently, every one of these guys flunked Sales 101, I should sic Dwight on them," he said with laugh.

"You know what?" I blurted, startling both him and me.

"No, what?" he asked with an indulgent grin.

"I'm not buying a car. At least, not right now," I said decisively.

"No?"

"No. This car is perfectly fine. Why should I buy a new one when there's nothing wrong with this one?"

"Nothing other than the ninja seatbelts," he grumbled good-naturedly.

"Well, I'm used to them. You'll just have to suck it up, Halpert."

"Sucking it up," he answered with a solemn nod.

"And you know what else?" I demanded.

"No, but I have a feeling you're going to tell me," he said warily.

"I'm taking that apartment," I said, almost daring him to challenge my decision.

"Great! I think you should."

"It's a great apartment in a great neighborhood, and damn it, the light is great in there!"

"Greater than great. Go Pam," he said with an encouraging smile.

"I'm going," I said with a nod as I peeled out of the Chevrolet dealership.

It was heady; I felt the rush of adrenaline as we sped across town, I basked in the warmth of his approving smile, and I gripped the steering wheel tighter to keep from reaching over and grabbing him. Excitement sizzled through my veins. Things were happening, big things, fun things.

After pulling to a stop in front of the pretty old Victorian, it was Jim who jogged up the sidewalk to catch up as I hurried to the door. It was Jim who hung back, his hands buried deep in his pockets, as I rung the bell. It was Jim who stood behind me. I could feel his smile warming my back, his breath stirring my hair, the solid warmth of his body backing me up as I talked to Margaret, negotiating a lower monthly rent in exchange for doing the cleaning, painting and minor household repairs myself. It was Jim who hovered in the entryway, quietly waiting as I filled out the standard application form that she handed to me and wrote out a check for the deposit.

When we shook hands, agreeing that I could move in this week provided that my references checked out, it was Jim who stepped forward and asked, "You did put me down as a reference, didn't you, Beesly?"

I smiled glancing at Margaret as I nodded. "Better you than Michael. Jim probably knows me better than anyone," I told her, knowing that it was the absolute truth. "He's my best friend."

He blushed, and I could see Margaret start to smile. "That's nice," she said quietly.

Jim nodded. "Pam's really nice. Quiet, for the most part," he added with a winning smile. "She's very reliable, someone you can always count on. She's also very funny, not that it matters whether your tenants are funny or not," he rambled. "Oh! I know she balances her checkbook to the penny. I've caught her doing it. She even uses the little form on the back of the bank statements." His eyes widened as he realized that he wasn't being particularly helpful, and I couldn't help but giggle a little.

"Uh, she's just… She's just great," he finished lamely, the color deepening in his cheeks. "Wow, maybe Michael _would_ be a better choice," he said as he gave me a wry smile.

I grinned at him, shrugging helplessly as I turned back to Margaret. "I can give you other references, he clearly sucks at this."

"Pam!" I laughed at the gaping shock on his face, and so did Margaret.

"I think he did fine," Margaret said kindly. "He's right, you are funny," she told me.

"Well, there you go. You can have all of this hilarity living right upstairs," I replied straight faced.

"I think this will probably work out just fine," she said quietly. "I'll call you on Monday."

"Great." I nodded as I turned to look at Jim. "Good thing you didn't blow it for me, Halpert."

"Yeah, I know."

That smile, I love that smile. Part-sheepish, part-cocky; a mixture of two parts of Jim that should be polar opposites, but somehow worked all mixed together. It was a powerful weapon, and the best part about Jim was that he didn't even know he had it. At least, I didn't think he knew. There was a wicked little gleam in his bright green eyes that made me think that maybe, just possibly, he did. All I knew for certain was that I had to find out.

"Hey, Margaret, would you mind if we went up to take another look? I just want to get some ideas. For paint and stuff," I added, hoping that I sounded more confident than I felt at that moment.

"Oh, not at all," she said with a nod. "Let me grab the keys again."

When she disappeared into the other room, Jim's face split into a wide smile. "Wow!" he said in a hushed, reverent tone.

"Shh." But it was too late. I could feel the flush creeping up my cheeks, the tiny hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention, and the rush of butterflies taking flight in my stomach.

Margaret returned with the keys, and I took them from her, promising that we wouldn't take too long as I ushered Jim toward her door.

Without waiting for him, I rushed down the porch steps and around the narrow walkway, climbing the wooden staircase as if I were a soldier marching off to war.

"These are going to be a lot of fun to carry stuff up when you move in," Jim commented as I slid the key into the lock.

"That's was friends are for, right?" I teased as I pushed the door open wide.

"Wow, Dionne Warwick is going to help you move in?" he asked as he followed me into the empty apartment. "Are some of her Psychic Friends going to help, 'cause that's a lot of stairs?"

"Ha ha." I pushed the door shut behind him and walked quickly into the living room.

"Why do I have a feeling I've been volunteered?"

"You don't want to help me?" I asked, widening my eyes innocently.

Jim rolled his eyes in reply. "What color in here, Beesly?" he asked as he gestured to the room.

"I think a really pale blue," I answered without hesitation.

"Already been picturing it, huh?"

"Yeah. I think we can make it really nice," I told him as I turned on my heel and walked toward the kitchen.

"We? You mean I get to paint too? Wow, I _am_ a lucky guy," he said facetiously.

"You are," I agreed on all counts.

"You were incredible down there," he said with a laugh. "I wish those car salesmen could have seen you. Now I know why they wanted to talk to me. You drive a hard bargain, Beesly."

I sniffed at his implication. "I thought I was fair and reasonable," I told him primly.

"Oh, you were, but wow. Just wow," he said, rocking back on his heels and grinning as he looked around at the large eat-in kitchen. "What color in…"

I cut him off by plastering my lips to his. It wasn't the most graceful of kisses. He was caught a little off guard, and he definitely was at a height advantage, but I have to say, I think he got the picture. When I pulled away, he blinked rapidly, and I could see the wheels beginning to grind in his head as he tried to catch up.

"Wow," he said again.

"I can probably do better if you'll bend down a little," I said with saucy grin, basking in his shock and awe.

Something must have clicked, or those gears must have finally meshed, because the next thing I know, Jim wrapped his arms around me and pulled me flush against him.

"Okay," he said as he bent down, and then he kissed me.

Okay, you know what's fun? I mean, more fun than a spirited game of Flonkerton, or even a heated Pam Pong match? Kissing Jim. Kissing Jim is the most fun a girl can have indoors. Okay, maybe not the most, but we hadn't gotten that far yet, and I'd be willing to bet that it works just as well outdoors. I'll have to give that a shot sometime. But at that moment, in that kitchen, there was nothing more fun than kissing Jim and being kissed by Jim.

His lips were so soft, but strong and firm at the same time. You know what I mean, not slobbery. And that little groan I heard and felt and tasted? Well, that was even more fun. Fun, because I could feel every muscle in his body tense as I opened my mouth. Great fun because I felt one very important muscle giving our performance a standing ovation as his tongue tangled with mine.

I wouldn't even mind if some judge took two tenths off of our score when I stumbled back against the counter, because there I was, pinned between formica and a very hard place. It was delicious. Probably the best thing that would ever be served up in this kitchen. Definitely the hottest.

Jim's hands. Those big hands with those long fingers. Those hands were everywhere; in my hair, covering my back, kneading my waist, skimming over my ribcage, and oh, thank god, cupping my breast. Of course, my hands were definitely in the game. There was no way they were going to let his hands keep them out of the running. And running they were; over his shoulders, down his arms, under the hem of his shirt, and up over the warm skin of his back. I arched my back, pressing into the palm of his hand, demanding that he step up his game as I pushed his shirt up over his chest.

Wow. Extra points for the soft chest hair covering long, lean muscles. He topped twenty points for the way his rock hard abs quivered and danced under my fingertips. He passed thirty for that maddening thing his thumb was doing to my nipple.

"Jim," I gasped as his mouth moved from my lips to my neck, unerringly finding the pulse that throbbed in my throat.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked, his voice hoarse as it vibrated against my skin.

"Stop and you forfeit," I warned him as I gently pushed him away from me.

"Okay, uh, conflicting signals," he mumbled as he took an unsteady step back.

I smiled, still gripping his bunched up shirt in both hands. "Pay attention," I told him sternly, and then yanked it up over his head.

Jim blinked in shock as he watched his shirt fall to the worn linoleum floor, and then gaped outright as I whipped my sweater up over my head, dropping it on top of his shirt.

"Pam," he rasped. I watched as his breathing picked up, and I could tell it took all of his strength to keep his eyes above sea level. And for that reason alone, he catapulted over forty and straight to fifty points.

I pressed my lips together, rubbing them back and forth slightly, trying to absorb the tingling sensation left over from his kisses. "Do you want to stop?" I asked quietly.

He laughed. Jim laughed at the mere insinuation that he would be the one to throw the game. "Are you kidding me? Pam, you have no idea," he said, his voice thick and husky as he stepped forward, his hand gliding over the bare skin of my waist. "Do you know how many times I've thought about this? Dreamed of this?" he asked bluntly.

"Me too," I told him, looking up into those mesmerizing green eyes. _There, that's the shade,_ I thought with a jolt. _Darker green than laughing Jim. Smoky. Green with a haze of grey and smoldering lights of gold. That's the color I'm painting my bedroom,_ I decided then and there.

"But we should stop," he said reluctantly.

"Stop? Why?" I demanded. An edge of panic made my voice waver, but I pushed on. "Don't you, um, want this? Want me?"

Jim ran his hand over my hair, loosening the clip that held it back, and running his fingers through it to smooth it down onto my shoulders. His touch was so gentle it made my heart ache. The heat of his fingertips against my bare skin made something else ache even more.

"Pam, listen to me," he said softly. "I want this, want you, more than anything or anyone I have ever wanted in my life," he said slowly. "But we're standing in a kitchen. A kitchen that isn't even your kitchen yet," he pointed out with a wry smile.

"Do you mean that?" I asked, searching his eyes. "Not the part about the kitchen," I quickly clarified.

"I mean it."

I smiled as his gaze flickered down at last. His breath caught in his throat, and then he quickly looked up, that sheepish/cocky smile tilting his lips as he shrugged helplessly. I laughed. I couldn't help but laugh because in a way, it was so utterly ridiculous. I laughed, because in another way, it was probably the most exciting thing I have ever done in my life.

Holding those smoldering green eyes with my own, I reached behind me and opened the clasp on my bra, smiling smugly as the material gave way, and Jim groaned.

"Killing me," he whispered.

"Touch me," I countered with a bold smile.

And he did. Boy, did he touch me. I guess I expected him to be a little shy, his touch a little more gentle. Boy, was I wrong. He kissed me, hard and hot. His mouth covered mine as his velvety tongue smoothed over my own. He filled his hands with my breasts, squeezing me, teasing me, and driving me wild. And wild I was, pressing against him wantonly, desperate for more of him.

I'd never felt like this with Roy, I can admit that now, now that I know the difference. I wanted Jim with a need so raw, so consuming that I felt like I would spontaneously combust if I couldn't have him. And I didn't want to combust. Not yet.

His mouth was hot as he blazed a trail of open mouthed kisses down my neck. His breathing was labored, his chest heaving with effort as he pinched my nipples, making the aching tips harden further. His body was hard, so hard under my hands, pressing against me.

Let me tell you a little secret I learned about Jim Halpert in those breathless few minutes. There are a lot of adjectives that I could use to describe Jim. Dorky is the one that usually springs to mind. Funny, charming, sweet and thoughtful are usually close on dorky's heels. But what I learned in the cavernous kitchen on that bright, sunny afternoon was that my dorky, charming, funny friend Jim was smooth. As smooth at the freckled skin stretched taut over his broad shoulders. As smooth as the muscled planes of his long back.

I yelped as my feet left the ground. I purred, yes, purred; as my bottom hit the countertop and I looked down to see those long, lean muscles in his arms bunched tight. I curled my fingers around them, squeezing the hard muscle as appreciatively as he had squeezed the soft curves of my breasts. And then he smiled, lowering his head to my breasts and drawing ardently on one aching nipple.

I may have cried out again, I'm not sure. I think I did, because I felt his lips curve against my skin as he pushed me back. My head hit the cabinet door, and I felt it give a little before holding steady behind me. I gripped his arms, pushing against the cabinet to brace myself as he took me in his hands again, his talented tongue swirling over the beaded tip of my breast with confident determination. Oh, he was smooth, so smooth with his soft lips and his silken tongue.

I felt one hand fall away from my breast and almost whimpered. Almost, but I didn't. I didn't because a moment later, I felt those long fingers sliding down my belly, down over the zipper of my jeans, and then pressing against the denim between my legs. That whimper turned into a moan so loud that I almost couldn't believe it came from me. But as those long, hard fingers moved over the seam of my jeans, I decided that I'd claim the moan and raise him one.

It was kind of a shame that I had to give up one of those arms, but I found it to be totally worth it when I ran my nails over the hard bulge in his jeans. His mouth came off of my breast, and his eyes flew open as if a thousand volts shot through him.

"Jesus, Pam," he rasped.

"I hear this is a team sport," I said softly, for once, liking the throaty sound of my own voice.

I looked him boldly in the eyes and a rush of pleasure sent heat coursing through my body. He must have felt it to, because his fingers pressed harder against my jeans. I loved the look in his eyes, a little wild and a lot of heat. I liked watching the rapid rise and fall of his chest. I felt wild and free. I felt sexy and seductive. I felt powerful.

"I want you, Jim," I said, my voice sure and steady.

I knew the moment the words left my lips that I had never spoken anything more true. I wanted him there and then. I wanted him hot and out of control. No dinner and a movie, there'd be time for that later. No soft seduction filled with tentative touches and gentle explorations, we'd get to that too.

"Pam," he whispered, his voice hoarse and helpless.

I smiled, knowing with a confidence that I had never felt before that he was mine for the taking.

"I want you," I repeated as I opened the top button on his jeans. He closed his eyes, drawing in a sharp breath as I tugged on his fly and the next button popped free. "Right now, right here," I whispered as I gave the worn denim a harsh yank, and the rest of the buttons rippled open.

Reaching past the denim, my fingertips brushed over well washed cotton boxers until I found him. A strangled groan escaped his parted lips as I stroked him lightly through the thin fabric.

"Say yes," I murmured.

"God, yes," he croaked, and then sprang into action.

Frantic fingers fumbled with my jeans, but I couldn't fault him for that. I was employing diversionary tactics. His knuckles pressed into my hips as he tugged on the waistband, grunting his frustration. I smiled, feeling strangely serene as I pulled my hand from his pants and pushed up off of the counter high enough for him to strip them down to my thighs. My shoes tumbled to the floor, followed quickly by my jeans, panties and socks. And finally, he smiled in return; his liquid green gaze traveling slowly up the length of my legs as he parted my thighs with his hands. The sheepishness was long gone, bludgeoned by the cockiness and smothered with the heat of desire.

"So beautiful," he murmured as his fingers trailed through the curls at the apex of my legs.

I watched him. I watched him watching me, and I have to say it was the sexiest thing I had ever seen. I watched as he parted me with his fingertips, tracing every contour of me with careful deliberation. I parted my legs, inviting his touch, and he didn't hesitate.

I knew I was wet. I knew that I had soaked through my panties somewhere around the time that his shirt hit the floor. Now he knew that I was wet, and I have to say, I liked him knowing.

He wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, and for a moment, I was jealous of those full lips, so I reclaimed them as my own. Lips, teeth and tongue, suddenly the world was exploding around us. His fingers pressed into me as his tongue swirled around mine, pushing into me with barely contained ardor. I refused to relinquish his mouth. I had him just where I wanted him. I kissed him harder, thrusting my tongue into his mouth as his fingers thrust into me. I pushed at his jeans and boxers, inching them down over his narrow hips as I ground against his hand.

Finally, I surrendered, tearing my mouth from his and gasping, "Now, Jim, I want you now."

He stepped back, and when his fingers slid from between my legs, I fully admit that I whimpered. I whimpered like a little needy baby. But I was okay with that, because Jim Halpert had lost his smooth, and was stumbling around in a strange kitchen trying to extricate himself from his shoes, socks, boxers and pants. Somehow the return of the dorky, offset the neediness of the whimper in my mind.

And then, he was naked. He was naked and I was naked and we were naked. Our eyes met as he stepped between my knees once more.

"Are you sure?" he asked breathlessly.

I couldn't help myself, I had to reassure him. Reaching out, I threaded my fingers through those soft curls at the nape of his neck and kissed him tenderly.

"Thanks for asking. Now quit stalling," I whispered as I wiggled to the edge of the countertop.

"I'm not stalling," he argued, grasping my hips and positioning me just where he wanted me.

"I think you are," I challenged.

"I'm not," he retorted.

I closed my eyes, a smile curving my lips as I felt the tip of his cock pressing against me. I let my head fall back against that unhinged cabinet door, ignoring the way it banged shut as he pushed into me.

"Pam," he panted.

"Oh yes," I moaned, shifting closer to the edge, knowing that he would never let me fall.

I reached one hand up to grasp the handle on another cabinet door, knowing what I must look like to him, and hoping that he liked the visual as much as I liked the image forming in my head. My hopes were confirmed a second later as he thrust into me, groaning my name.

It wasn't the stuff of romance novels. At least, not the Harlequins my Grandma kept stashed in her end table drawers. It was more the makings of Cinemax at Night, and I have to tell you, I liked it that way. I opened my eyes and saw Jim staring at me, his jaw clenched and a fine film of sweat glistening on his brow. His mouth fell open as he pushed into me harder and faster, his score for technical ability more than making up for anything he may have lost in artistic interpretation.

Watching him, I found myself drowning in the raw desire reflected in his eyes. Distantly, I felt the searing heat of my climax coiling low and deep inside of me. More presently, I felt each hard thrust of his cock taking me higher, pushing me, urging me, and all but begging me to take what I wanted most. So I did. I let myself go; feeling my breasts bounce with each powerful stroke, undulating against him each time he filled me, clinging to the handle on that cabinet so tightly I feared that it would snap off in my hand.

I heard Jim curse softly under his breath and then saw him bite down on his lip. With a cry I violently shook my head 'no' and he stared back at me in confusion. I saw the tiny drop of blood forming on his lip and lunged for him, kissing the afflicted skin softly just before I shattered into pieces.

I climaxed so hard and so fast that for a split second I saw stars. Of course, it's also possible that I saw them because for the last thirty seconds or so I had been banging my head against that loose cabinet door, but I choose to believe it was the orgasm. I had to fight to keep my eyes open, but I wanted to see him. I needed to see him.

"Pam," he whispered as he slowed, but still moved inside of me gently, oh-so gently.

I ran my hand over his tousled hair, as his forehead dropped to my shoulder. "Are you okay?" I whispered.

"I was just gonna ask you that," he answered as he pressed soft kisses to my collarbone.

"Did you, uh…"

He chuckled, and I could feel it down to the soles of my feet. "That's right, you were too busy hitting your head to notice," he teased.

Okay, satisfied Jim with the deep, gravelly voice? That is made of win. Win, win, win in my book. "Your fault," I said softly.

"Let me kiss it."

I let my head fall forward, and Jim gently kissed my hair. Would you believe me if I told you it was almost as good as the orgasm? It was, just in a totally different way. I sighed as he moved back slightly, and then pouted as I felt him slip away. The pout eased a bit as he stroked my hair, and I closed my eyes, relaxing into his touch.

_Yellow_, I thought as I pressed my head back against the cabinet with the door that wouldn't close all the way. _Not yellow as is 'chicken', but yellow as in 'bright, cheerful daffodils' yellow. And I am never fixing this cabinet door._

Jim stood in front of me, wide-eyed and naked as the day he was born. "Pam?"

"Mm hmm?" I hummed the only sound I could actually manage at the time.

"Are you… Um, what are you thinking?" he asked cautiously.

I smiled. I couldn't help but smile. I couldn't help but reach out and touch the tips of those messy curls that sprang up behind his ear. I couldn't help but feel smug about the fact that I had made them even messier.

"I'm thinking I'll paint this room yellow," I said slowly, forcing the words past my parched lips.

Jim reared back slightly. "That's what you're thinking about?"

I couldn't stop myself. He was irresistible, with that injured/annoyed frown on his face, and those big green eyes staring back at me in shocked disbelief. I sat up, capturing his cheeks in both hands and holding him there as I planted a big one right on his kisser. And what a kisser.

"It's now my favorite room, and that's saying a lot, because I'm not much of a cook," I told him soberly.

"Well, thanks," he muttered with a dismayed shake of his head.

When he began to step back, I held firm, looking him straight in the eyes. "This was fun, wasn't it?"

"Fun?"

I smiled and I know he wanted to smile too. I could see the corners of his mouth twitching. I had to kiss them, so I did. Tiny soft pecks of comfort and gratitude and pleasure. Oh yeah, kissing Jim Halpert was nothing but a pleasure. And let me say, for the record, that pleasuring Jim Halpert and being pleasured by Jim Halpert is nothing but fun.

"Yeah, it was fun," I said as I snuggled into his neck. "I always have fun when I'm with you."

"Not exactly how I pictured this ever happening," he said dryly.

"That's what makes it fun," I said as I pulled back and grinned at him.

He grinned back, and then kissed me sweetly. "You're right. This was fun," he said as he gathered me close and hugged me tightly.

And hugging Jim Halpert naked in a strange kitchen that is soon to be mine? A full hundred points and a gold medal. Oh! Not one made out of a yogurt lid either, a real one. Solid gold, baby.

The End


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